Blips
by SearchingForMercury
Summary: Life is made of moments you remember. These are theirs. [This is an ongoing collection of drabbles, each one complete in its own way]
1. Of Zombies and Doctors

**Of Zombies and Doctors**

Gilbert was in some sort of hell. Waiting rooms could be called that. They were lit with that fake light, the sort that flickered sometimes and were usually worked into horror movies. He wished it was a horror movie - at least he knew he could survive. The lights would buzz, kind of like what they were already doing, but much more noticeable. Then a car would smash in through the front, spraying all the falling, filler characters with glass. Maybe that was too much like an action flick. A horror movie would be more intense, more full of mystery and emotions. Or zombies. Zombies could work too.

A woman shuffled in - okay, so she didn't _really_ shuffle in. She wasn't a zombie. Yet.

Oh, she didn't work there. She tucked her phone in her purse, glanced his way, and took a seat two chairs down. That's right. _Don't_ sit down over here. The less people near him the better. When the zombies came, he could outrun everyone else. Yes. This was always the plan.

Except when Roddy came back from the bathroom.

"Good, you're still here," the other man said as he sat down.

"Good, you found your way back from the big-boy room," Gilbert shot back.

Roderich stared at him with a very flat expression for all but three seconds.

Yeah, if Roddy weren't there, he could outrun everybody. There was no way some zombie was going to chomp into _his _leg. Gilbert wasn't very keen on the idea of being eaten alive. Dull teeth digging their way into your flesh, pulling at it, tearing it off nice and slow, so you could just feel every tendon stretching, ripping. Ugh.

"Are you okay?" Roderich asked. "You know it's just an exam."

Gilbert stared at him for a moment. "I wouldn't let them get you, no worries," he said.

"What."

And he wouldn't. He'd pick him up and haul ass. That was always part of the plan.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

Goddamn. He hadn't even noticed her enter. Great job he'd do. How could he get a head start when he wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings?

"When you get back, we can look at some together," Roderich said.

Gilbert frowned. "That's if I need them," he replied.

Roderich picked up a magazine and scanned the cover. "Oh, you'll need them."

Rolling his eyes, Gilbert followed the optometrist out of the waiting room, away from the giant posters of smiling people in stylish frames, towards the back where he knew he'd have squint at a screen with tiny numbers and letters and guess at which they were.


	2. Comforters and the Cold

**Comforters and the Cold**

When Gilbert woke up, something was wrong, terribly wrong. He kept swaying in and out of sleep and it wasn't until he realized he had been staring at the old water stain on the ceiling did he sit up. It was too early to be awake - this was part of what was wrong with the picture. He didn't even need to look at a clock - he could _feel_ it.

He did so anyways, and 9:23 was, like, two whole hours away from what he was used to. Normally he was a pretty decent sleeper, not too light, but not too heavy. If a burglar bust in, he'd be there, but he also didn't wake up to every little noise the apartment made. Like their neighbors. What in God's name they had those bike horns for, Gilbert could only guess. His best one was some sort of musical group, though Roderich wasn't fond of that theory.

His foot felt like a block of ice. Even with their heavy down comforter, Gilbert could feel the chill in the air. It had probably snowed the night before. But that didn't explain why it felt like the air around a window. They had a pretty decent heating system.

Gathering the comforter around him, with its little black on red design, Gilbert wandered out of the bedroom. He should have grabbed socks.

"Roddy!" Gilbert whined before he even saw him. "Why does it feel like Russia in here?"

The other man was stirring a cup of coffee, based on the smell, standing behind the kitchen counter. "Because our utility bill was ridiculous last month," Roderich replied. When he looked up, his expression sort of dropped. "It's not _that_ cold."

Gilbert stared at him from beneath the folds of comforter wrapped all around him. _Really_? he hoped his expression said. "Put your cup down."

"Why?" Roderich asked, sort of drawing the question out, suspicious. He set the mug down, in any case.

That's when Gilbert ran at him - around the counter and back again when Roderich tried to make a run for it - and tackled him to the floor.

"_Gilbert, we are adults_!" Roderich's voice was muffled from either the floor, the blanket, or both. "_Get off_!"

Gilbert pulled the comforter up and over, blocking out the light from the windows, the light from the kitchen. "I don't wanna," he muttered, but dropped off to the side so he could curl closer to him. He was really warm.

He could feel Roderich shift, turn towards him. The coffee-scented sigh he let out hit Gilbert's face. "I can't believe you just did that."

Gilbert grinned. "Really? After all this time?"

Another sigh. "You know, we're just on the floor. Under a comforter. Does that not strike you as odd?" he asked.

"Not when it's with you," Gilbert replied, coating his voice in as much sugar as possible.

"Oh my God," Roderich muttered, but Gilbert would bet real money that his cheeks were turning red. He didn't really want to face the cold to see if they did, though.

Gilbert wrapped his arms around him, trying to get impossibly close. Yes, this was much better. Warmer, for sure. He didn't like waking up alone.


	3. The Human Pillow

**The Human Pillow**

Roderich had always been an expert at blocking things out - the light in the morning, people's conversations, or the television his boyfriend had turned up a few extra notches. It made it more intense, he had explained before. You could really get yourself in the middle of the action, he had said. Whatever the reason, Roderich was used to it. He just needed a good song, a really interesting idea, or, in this case, a very good book.

He had always wanted to read _Treasure Island_, but never seemed to have the time. There was work, household chores, and of course the speculation that he just might have a social life. Cold weather always seemed to draw him to the bookshelves, to bury himself in sweaters and blankets and get lost between the pages. Now that he was almost halfway through, he didn't want to much of anything else.

"Roddy, c'mere."

The plot was finally settling in place. Roderich wasn't sure why the child didn't realize the good man Silver was the seafaring man with one leg - he _had_ all the descriptive elements. But then, Roderich supposed, there wouldn't have been much of a story. Just because the boy had been keeping an eye out for such a man for the first couple chapters didn't mean he could actually recognize him when the time came. Maybe he had built up a profile, one with a mean old rascal instead of this humble, happy fellow.

"Roddy, I'm serious. Roddy. Hey Roddy."

He lowered the open book to his chest, the plastic library cover crinkling as he did so. "_What_?!" he snapped.

Gilbert was looking at him upside down from the couch. "Come here," he said and reached out like a toddler, making grabby gestures with his hands.

Roderich just picked the book back up.

Gilbert groaned, but Roderich didn't look up until he was being _pulled_ up. Blankets and all, Gilbert lifted him from the armchair and settled down in front of the television. Gilbert curled up around him like he sometimes did in bed, arms around his middle.

"I needed a human pillow," Gilbert mumbled into Roderich's shoulder.

Roderich looked at the screen. "_World War Z_. How romantic."

The other man chuckled and Roderich stared at the screen with disinterest. He wasn't really sure what was going on, why the characters were running around like that - other than the obvious reasons. He wasn't sure where this love of zombies stemmed from. Gilbert seemed to get really serious when it came to the topic, though, and Roderich often wondered if he hated zombies so much, why bother watching it? It only ever seemed to rile him up.

Ten minutes later and he really needed to move, to change positions or something. His arm was beginning to lose feeling. Soon it would be in pain. When he wriggled a bit, he was surprised to find that Gilbert wasn't resisting. His breathing was deep and even and his arms had lost tension - he was asleep. What had even been the point?

Roderich covered him with the blanket he had been using once he had slipped free, off the couch. Even the kiss to his white-blonde hair didn't rouse Gilbert from his dreams. And so Roderich got comfortable in the armchair again, ready to settle back into the long ago times of pirates and treasure.


End file.
